Fever Dreams
by Mary Banks
Summary: Within the truth hides the lies and within the lies hides the truth. A gift has been given to the foes of Mordor, and one Gondorian Captain-General will see it to safely. Boromir/OC. Dark themes.
1. Prologue

Fever Dreams

By Marie-Elisabeth

Prologue

To truly See is a funny thing – to be able to look past that which you see with your eyes and into that which is only Seen by the soul. One is not just shown _the_ future – one is shown _every_ future and _every_ past and _every_ present that could ever have been or could be. It is up to the viewer to discern the difference of what might have been and what truly _is_; as well as what is crucial to what they need to know. The process of learning to decipher the truth from the lies is an art when dealing with Seeing through time, because within the truth hides the lies and within the lies hides the truth.

Not that the lies aren't important. Sometimes the lies hold more power than the truth ever could.


	2. Chapter 1: Out of the Frying Pan

Chapter 1: Out of the Frying Pan…

The first thing she became aware of was a deep howling of the wind, whistling as it blew just over her head. Then, the pain came. Cramped as she was in the tight space she awoke in, Cerie couldn't quite move enough to appraise just how much damage she had taken – she knew that her hands and mouth were bound painfully and that she had aches and pains all over her body. Most alarming was the intense pain she felt in her lower abdomen and between her legs, as well as the sharp stab she felt if she moved her neck. She squeezed her eyes shut and tried to block out the thoughts that came to her as to why she would feel pain where she did.

With a deep, shaky breath she wriggled enough in her prison to see over the edges of the walls and quickly duck back down, only to discover she wasn't in a cage at all – she was in a large Orc cook pot. Slowly peering back over the ledge she discovered she was in fact quite alone, though she could distinctly smell the stench of burnt flesh in the air. Not surprising, considering the number of other large pots around her with the fires lit beneath them. As for the Orcs, however, they were nowhere to be seen. It was as if they dropped everything they were doing and ran.

No wanting to stick around and wait until they came back, Cerie slowly crept over the side of the pot that was closest to the tree line and as quietly as possible made a break for it. She was not able to move quickly or gracefully due to her many injuries (most notably a very sore and bloody ankle she didn't realize she had until putting weight on it) and her bound hands, but she was able to make it into the thick of the forest before she allowed herself to stop and rest.

As she tried to free herself from her binds she scanned her surroundings for any landmarks she could recognize, but at this point she was too deep in the woods to see anything other than trees. She tried desperately to remember how it was she ended up a captive, but as she tried to recall the sharp pain in her neck crept up into her skull and no memories came to her. She knew the basics – she was Cerie Liandara, a Gondorian from the town of Calembel, near the river Ciril. But more than that… She quickly cut off her thoughts as the pain worsened. She eventually was able to loosen the ropes around her wrists enough to free her hands and then her mouth. She heaved a huge sigh of relief and winced as the movement caused another pain in her ribs to show itself. She had to get out of the woods and find some help, but where to start?

Just as she thought she would be overcome with pain and despair she heard a sound - soft and low at first, but soon she could hear the deep booms of a horn coming towards her. It was a light, sweet call that sounded in three quick successions and even though she could not explain it, when she heard it she felt no dread- only hope.

* * *

><p>Osgiliath was Gondor's once again, but at such a cost – the bridge leading to the eastern bank of the river was destroyed, but not before a few of the Nazgul were able to cross and flee into the dark. He knew not where they had gone, just that as soon as they were through safely the dark forces ended their attacks. It did not bode well for the people of the West, and he suspected that the dreams he and Faramir had been having were linked with this evil. Currently, Faramir and a few other men were riding with him in an attempt to rout out the Orcs that had fled the battle before they began to terrorize the countryside. They had been largely successful, though the band they were chasing now had managed to elude them for three days. He sounded the Horn of Gondor again, calling the rest of his people to him to finish the kill so that they could all finally be done with this mission. He would have to head back to Osgiliath to set up a garrison and help rebuild the bridge, but for now all he could think of was the task at hand. Other men were ahead of him and he raced on, not wanting to miss out on the action. Unfortunately, he arrived just as the last Orc fell to an arrow shot from his brother.<p>

"Better late than never I suppose, dear brother," Faramir joked as he walked up to Boromir's horse and patted his muzzle, "Did you get lost, or were you simply taking the time to enjoy the scenery?"

Boromir dismounted and with a scoff and an eye roll and brushed past his brother to examine the dead Orcs.

"No need to be cute with me, Faramir; there are no ladies here to impress with your attitude." He teased, earning a few chuckles for the other men around them.

"Did the scouts see any more?" He asked, turning to one of the commanders that had been there before he arrived.

"No, Captain. They report all clear," the soldier replied, "Osgiliath's western bank is still held strong, no other attacks have been made on the city."

"Good, good." Boromir murmured to himself. He stood and turned to the others but as he faced them a movement in the trees behind them caught his eye – too small for a man, but too tall for the small Orcs they had been chasing. He quickly drew his sword and let out a terse, wordless call of alarm as the figure ducked behind a tree.

"Please!" A voice cried out, "I am no Orc! I was their prisoner and I am badly in need of a Healer."

He immediately sheathed his sword and motioned for Faramir to go with him. The others stayed back, not wanting to frighten the girl. She had fallen to the ground as she tried to hide herself behind the tree and it was clear that she was having trouble standing up again. Her dress was in tatters, she had dirt and blood caked all over her and something with a too sweet smell was oozing from a bloody cut in her side. She was so thin and malnourished she looked almost as if a skeleton had risen from the grave and simply draped skin over itself. He could tell she was fighting unconsciousness with the way her eyes kept fluttering closed.

"Easy now," he soothed as he kneeled before her, "Rest for a moment, you are safe now. I am Boromir, Son of Denethor II, Steward of Gondor, and this is my brother Faramir. What is your name?"

Cerie moaned in relief and tears came to her tired eyes. "Cerie Liandara. Please, I woke up in an Orc stew pot but I cannot remember how I got there. I am from a small farm outside of Calembel… my father is Gunnar and my mother is Taladril. I hurt all over, please I just want to go home!" Hysterics set in as she explained herself, and she was sure that by the end of what she said they could no longer understand her over the sobs and hiccupping. Faramir ran off to the other group of men while Boromir stayed and knelt next to her, stroking her hair in an attempt to calm her. Slowly but surely she soothed until she finally fainted from a mixture of over exertion and pain.

* * *

><p>Who are you?<p>

_I am fire. I am need. I am pain. I am more than pain: I am _anguish_. I am the other side of death and denied the _sympathy_ of it. I am a life that should never have been. Skin is all I am. Skin that is alive that burns that aches that needs. Darkness. Pain. Time has no meaning. I drift. I am alone. _Misplaced_. I have always been alone. There has never been anything but cold and fire and pain. His tongue is in my mouth, and it's tearing apart my soul._

_Focus, girl, it's essential. Get the words. Deep breaths. Don't think about what's happening to you. See. Provide. Defend. Others are in danger. So many died. Can't be for naught. Life's not linear at all. It happens in lightning flashes. So fast you don't see those slap-you-in-the-face moments coming at you until you're a victim of your own intricate schemes. A brother dead. A legacy of lies. An unsolicited inheritance of ancient blood. An unattainable assignment. A ring that is a beast that is ultimate power, and whatever gets their hands on it first decides the outcome of the world. Maybe _all _the worlds._

Who are you?_ Here on the floor, in my last moments—Cerie's last grandstand—I see that the answer is all I've ever been: _I'm nobody.

* * *

><p>Cerie awoke with a start to the kind face of an older gentleman who looked to be in his early sixties wrapping bandages around her swollen ankle.<p>

"I'm glad to see you awake, my dear. You gave us quite a scare for a while there – never seen a fever take hold of someone so quickly like it did you. I'm just changing the wrap on your foot here, been trying to let the cut breathe so it doesn't fester. Can I get you some water? You've been asleep for almost three days, you must be famished!" He rambled on, only pausing when she tried to sit up, "Whoa now, dearly, lets not be hasty! You cracked a few ribs on your adventure. Stay down while I go fetch you something to eat and the Captain-General. He'll be wanting to see you now that you're up!"

Cerie laid back down with a sigh and stared at the sky. It was early evening and she could tell the sun had just set from the soft light still radiating from the horizon. She'd been asleep for three days? How long had she been gone from home before that? Her mother must be beside herself with worry… If her mother was even still alive. Why couldn't she remember where she had been before she was captured? She felt the same weight that pressed on her in her dreams settle over her and quickly pushed away her thoughts and the pain.

She tried to reign in the tears before the Healer came back, but instead she saw Boromir heading towards her with a water skin and a bowl in his hands.

"Welcome back to the world of the living, my lady. Tolfir mentioned you would need some food, so I brought you some broth. Hopefully it will be easy on your empty stomach," He said in greeting. With a smile he sat on the ground next to the bedroll Cerie was laying on and helped her sit up with her back resting against some soft packs. "You wounds are starting to heal nicely. The gouge in your side is much better. We were able to clean out the - erm - spices... that were stuffed in it. They caused it to fester, but your fever has broken and I believe you're past the worst of it.

"Thank you," she replied, taking the soup into her lap and immediately drinking from the water skin to help clear her raspy throat. "He said I've been asleep for three days… where are we?"

"We've started back towards Minas Tirith with a company of twenty men. We're fairly close now and we should make it back tomorrow, around noon. I'd wager that once we get there and get you into the Halls of Healing you will feel much better. I am very happy to see that you're well enough to eat and talk with me."

"I had hoped," she began, sipping the broth slowly, "That I could go home instead. I'm sure if word could be sent my brothers would come and get me." She felt a stab straight to her heart as she mentioned her brothers – dead? Why could she not remember?

He looked down with a grim frown, "I see you still don't recall how you came to be here. We received word that the men of Calambel left to help fight bandit raids and while they were away Goblins descended from the mountains to attack. I asked about your family specifically, but none that I spoke to have even heard of them. Many farms were reported to be burned outside of the town and the death toll was very high. I am so sorry, my lady, but there is still hope yet that the men of your family will have survived the battles with the bandits. For now, we must wait and pray. I'll not send you back to a ghost city until we know something is still there for you." She nodded mutely, not knowing what to say.

"There is another matter that I must speak to you about, my lady. Tolfir mentioned that you may have been hurt more deeply… that you have suffered injuries of the soul." He said slowly, as if trying to choose the most delicate way to word it.

Cerie let out a hollow laugh. "It's amazing what the mind can do to protect itself," she whispered, looking away from him. "The first thing I can remember is pain and cold and the walls of a cook pot. Before that… flashes of a past life. My family, my friends, my town. Nothing recent. The more I try to remember what happened the more my head hurts and the more that slips away from me. I want to remember, I need to know. And yet… I'm terrified and I don't want to know why I hurt in places that I _shouldn't_… But something is pressing on my heart, telling me that it is urgent that I wake up from this dream and get back to work." She trailed off looking at the ground, confused. "Work? I don't know what I'm saying anymore." She shook her head and heaved a sigh.

Boromir rested his hand on top of her own. He cupped her chin with his other hand and gently raiser her eyes to his, "We'll get you through this. Tomorrow we will be in the White City where you can truly rest. My father will be interested to hear the tale of the brave girl who climbed her way out of becoming stew! What say you we add some knightly embellishments to the tale – You fought off a dozen Orcs! Saved the Steward's heir from certain death! Charmed the men with your dazzling wit and sparkling smile!" He grinned, eliciting the first laugh from her he had seen. "Ah, there! That's the smile! Well, at least that part is true, I consider myself well and truly dazzled!" They laughed together and chatted about easier things until she had finished her soup.

"Thank you, my Captain. I very much needed to smile." She said as she settled back down onto her bedroll.

"Nay, it was my pleasure. Thank you for the company, it was a much needed change from the men! But please, call me Boromir, my lady." He said as he stood to leave.

"Thank you, Boromir. You may call me Cerie. And I thank you again for all that you have done to care for me."

"Rest well, Cerie. I hope that your dreams are sweet and your worries are little."


	3. Chapter 2: A Spark

Chapter 2: A Spark

_I crumple. I am misery. I am gloom. I am isolation. I am the cliffs of ebony fire from where my attackers hail._

_I dream of bitter plains and halls of black abyss. I dream of a white tree. I dream of rivers that are doorways to heaven and gateways to torture. I dream of animals that cannot exist. I dream of things I cannot name. I sob in my dreams. Powerful arms envelop me. I tremble into them. I suffer like I'm dying. There is something in my dream that wants me to die. Or at least end existing as far as I recognize it. It makes me livid. I will not stop surviving. I will not die, regardless of how much hurt there is. I made (will make?) a promise to him. Him who is my utmost sun, my beloved star. Someone I want to know better than I know myself. I wonder who it is. I push on through the frosty, shadowy imaginings._

_And then there is a shift in time and I am he and he is speaking. "_Seek for the Sword that was broken_," He says, _"In Imladris it dwells, there shall be counsels taken, stronger than Morgul-spells. There shall be shown a token that doom is near at hand, for Isildur's Bane shall waken, and the Halfling forth shall stand."

_As quickly as it came it is gone, and I am writhing in another time. I am vibrant. I am so alive. I have not been more awake in all my time than I am now. I sit naked in a knot of blankets. The world is a physical feast and I am ravenous. I gleam with sweat and contentment. But I require more. My sun is here. I need only his body, his stimulating stroke, the primal, personal things he does. His body on mine, his teeth and tongue, and above all else I hunger for what hangs heavy amid his legs. Occasionally I kiss it. Lick it. Then he too gleams with sweat and starvation and pulls under my mouth. I trap his hips and tease. It makes me feel in control and vivacious. "You are the most gorgeous person I've ever known," I say to him. "You are flawless."_

_His smile in response makes me feel extraordinary: I feel that despite my many fears I am able to dance on a ledge above a great rift- it is ecstasy, I survive, and for those moments I am so very alive._

_My sun awakens me._

* * *

><p>She stirred to the touch of his hand and the sound of his voice.<p>

"Good morning, Cerie!" Boromir said when he saw her eyes open. She flinched away with a strange look but he continued on, "We didn't want to wake you so we went ahead and set out. Would you like some food? Tolfir says we need to get something more hearty than soup into you."

Cerie let her eyes flutter closed for a moment. What was that dream she had? It was as if she was everywhere and nowhere; she was every _when_ and yet… she never was_._

"Cerie?" He asked and she jerked back from his hand with a nervous laugh.

"Yes, please, food sounds wonderful. I'm feeling ravenous." She gasped out and he smiled at her. She glanced away nervously and noticed that the men had tied her stretcher between two horses. The medic, Tolfir, was riding on one and a soldier she did not recognize occupied the other. Boromir was riding behind them, close to where her head lay. She took the piece of bread offered to her and ate it quickly.

"I am very glad to see your appetite has returned with such a vengeance, milady! I am Faramir, Boromir's brother. We were quite worried about you." The other man carrying her cot said, and she gave him a strange look. Of course she knew this was Faramir, she knew everything about the man; she had held him when he cried over the loss of their mother, bandaged his knee when he fell off his first pony, encouraged him when their father was cruel – and then, it was gone. She closed her eyes and drew in a deep breath. She had never met this man before. What was happening to her?

"Milady? Was the bread too much for your stomach?" Tolfir asked anxiously, slowing the horses and putting a hand to her head to check for a fever.

"No, I'm sorry, my head is still just very sore. I'm afraid I may have just sat up too quickly." She lied, patting his hand, "I would very much love some more, I feel as though I haven't eaten in months!"

The men passed a pregnant look to one another and she knew they assumed that she hadn't eaten in at least month due to her boney figure. Boromir handed her more food with a small smile, "We're approaching Minas Tirith, Cerie, that is why I woke you. Faramir and Tolfir will take you to the Halls of Healing and I will go report to my father. As I said before, I am sure he will want to hear of your valiant tale."

_He touches me until I cannot talk or even draw breath, until I do not care if I will ever draw breath again. Until I have forgotten for a instant that he is not a primal animal meant for nothing but pleasure, but a man.  
><em>

"Thank you," She said with a small blush, coming back to herself, "Boromir?" She asked, hesitantly, "What is a Halfling?"

The look he gave her made her wish she hadn't opened her mouth, and she heard Faramir give a startled yelp next to her.

"Where did you hear that word?" He asked almost viciously, straining on his horse to see her face more clearly.

"I didn't, never mind. It's silly, just a dream I had. I'm sorry... have I offended you, My Lord?" She asked shakily, mentally berating herself for never knowing when to shut up.

Boromir and Faramir exchanged a dark look before Boromir ordered Tolfir to change horses with him.

"What's going on?" Cerie asked, suddenly not wanting the older man to go and leave her with the brothers.

"Nothing, don't worry. I just decided to take you to the Halls of Healing myself, and make sure you're comfortable. My father doesn't need to know what's happened to you just yet. We don't want to over excite you with visitors, after all." Boromir said without meeting her eyes, "Lie back down, my dear, we're still about an hour out of the city."

* * *

><p><em>I am in the middle of the keep, and there are Orcs and Goblins all around me, and they cut me ajar and tear out my insides and fling them all across the road, until there is a husk of a girl, a sack of skin and skeleton, and the terror of it… the terror of seeing yourself from the exterior as all you know about yourself gets uncovered and destroyed, not just the slaughter of control over your body but control over your spirit, rape in the truest, most hellish sense of the word, but wait— There's a flash. <em>

_Within that gutted girl, there's an area they can't reach. There's more to me than I thought there could be. A part that nothing can take away from me. They can't shatter me. I won't end. I'm sturdy. And I am never going to leave until I've got that which I came here for. I might have been misplaced for a little bit, but I was never truly lost._

_**Who are you?**_

* * *

><p>With a volatile gasp, Cerie snapped up in her bed, and her eyes flew open—like becoming conscious after she was dead and buried.<p>

The sound caused Boromir to jerk awake from the chair that was sat next to her bead in the Halls of Healing.

"Are you alright?" He asked quickly, "Shall I fetch the healer?"

"No, no. I'm alright," She breathed out, "Just a bad dream." She wondered at that – she had had other dreams that she knew for a fact were just dreams - but sometimes they took on a greater meaning. Pushing, pawing, pressing, gnawing at her mind, like if she didn't just wake up and get the hell out of bed and back to work all the things she cared for would be lost. And yet – they were already lost, weren't they? In her mind's eye she could see the bodies of her family strewn around her while the minions of evil closed in. She could see her brother's lifeless eyes staring up at her accusingly. If she didn't have this gift (_curse_?) he wouldn't have been forced to leave his friends and town and everything they had known to protect her. He wouldn't be dead.

"Cerie, we need to speak about your dreams," Boromir said gently, taking her hands into his own and sitting on the edge of her bed. "Actually," he said as she began to shy away from him, "Let me tell you about my dreams. I see the Eastern sky grow dark. But in the West, a pale light lingered. A voice is crying, 'Seek for the Sword that was broken_. _In Imladris it dwells, and there shall be counsels taken, stronger than Morgul-spells. There shall be shown a token that doom is near at hand, for Isildur's Bane shall waken, and the Halfling forth shall stand.' Do you know of that which I speak?" He asked while stroking her hand in an attempt to keep her calm.

"I do." She rasped out, "For that is one of my dreams as well."

He did not look surprised. "I had feared as much. My brother has had this vision as well." He stood suddenly and heaved a great sigh. "I must counsel with my father. I fear I may have a journey ahead of me. I shall take my leave of you. Sleep well, little one, and I hope you dreams are sweeter than they were."

* * *

><p>"Why would a peasant woman-child be sharing dreams with you and your brother?" Denethor snarled out, "It must be lies, deceit! She is trying to trick us!"<p>

"What could she possibly gain from that, father?" Boromir protested with his head in his hands. He should have know better than to expect to receive sound guidance from his father with the way he had withdrawn recently. "You should not be so suspicious of everyone around you."

"Suspicious? Suspicious! You'll be sorry when you finally see what I see – the vultures are circling, my sons. The world of man is gasping its last breath. There is no hope for those who stand against Sauron, I have see it."

"Then maybe we should venture to Imladris," Faramir spoke quietly, "So we can see for ourselves what this 'token' is that our dreams speak of. Isildur's Bane – could it really be…?"

Denethor scoffed, "And who shall make the journey? You? You would not last a week."

"I will go, Father." Boromir interjected, putting a hand on his brother shoulder in comfort, "If that is the will of the Steward, of course," he added hastily, bowing his head.

"Hmm, yes. I sense you will find no peace in Imladris, but if this token is so powerful as to give you dreams then I suppose we should look into it. Very well. In twenty days time you will leave for the Elf Realm. You will discover what it is they have and if it is useful... you will take it as a weapon for Gondor.


	4. Chapter 3: Exilaration

Author's Note: When I started planning this story out I had a general idea for what I would write for each of the first thirty chapters, or so. I've yet to follow even one of my guidelines, but I am very happy with where the story has taken itself. I'm just as excited as you to see where it all leads even though I'm going to attempt to keep it on the path I had planned. I'm very happy with the response this fic has generated so far – only a few reviews, but its been added to more alert lists that I imagined it would! Thank you all for your support. I was afraid when I started this that I was the only person who still lurked in the LotR archives, so I am very glad you guys are still out there! A very special thanks to** Sic Vita Est** and **Lunabelledara**, you guys are great!

* * *

><p>Chapter 3: Exhilaration<p>

_We are in his body, the two of us, and we are slaughtering ferociously, and our spirit is alive while we do it. It never felt so exhilarating to destroy before now. It never felt unpleasant, either, but now it thrills. Now it is dominance; it is desire, it is living._

_I feel as if I am viewing something illicit. I know -without knowing how I know- that the situations under which he would act in such a manner are immeasurably few. He is a beast again. Blood sprays. Bones crunch. And then – agony. We feel the arrow pierce our belly and for a moment we are separate and we are nothing but regret for our lost time together and our unspoken words. And then we are angry as hell. We have had so many wrongs committed against us that we don't even know how to begin cataloging them; so we stand and murder more. We ignore the next piercing arrow that embeds itself into our shoulder, though we can no long use that arm to swing our sword. We try desperately to kill more, just a few more so that those we are charged to protect can be safe and flee. We fail._

_The third arrow pierces our chest and we feel our lung collapse and we can no longer draw in breath. We see our charges picked off the ground by the giant Orcs that killed us. We are ended._

_Time shifts. I laugh. It is the sound of someone I do not remember, juvenile and without concern. It is the giggle of a girl who knows no hurt, and never did. I wish I knew her. He touches my face. There is something new in his touch. It feels like he's saying farewell, and I know a second of terror. The sky darkens and the moon fills the horizon. "Don't leave me." I thrash naked in the bed. _

"_I'm not, Cerie," He whispers even as he stands and moves away from me, towards a man that is too small to be a man but too old to be a boy that wears a glinting chain around his neck. I am drawn to my sun but he moves ever away._

_I know I am dreaming then, because dreams are home to the ridiculous and what he says next is past ridiculous: "You're the one leaving me, silly girl."_

* * *

><p>"No!" She rasped out as she shot up in bed. She would never leave him. <em>She already had? <em>She shook her head to clear her thoughts, trying to focus on the many possibilities she had seen.

It was settled. Cerie now knew without a doubt that Boromir could not make his journey alone. He was to leave tomorrow and she was forced to stay behind. She left her room in the Halls of Healing and made her way to the seventh tier of Minas Tirith, searching for Faramir.

It had been twenty-two days since she had first woken up as an Orc meal and she was finally on the mend. She still had bruising but the worst of her wounds had scabbed over, and her overall health had increased dramatically since the Healers had started force feeding her fatty foods to get her body weight back into the healthy range. She had filled back out and the coloring returned to her skin. Her nails, which had been cut to the quick, had now started to grow again with nourishment. Her hair no longer looked a deathly and brittle grey, but a healthy chestnut brown.

The dreams had not slowed down and they did not make any more sense to her now than they did at first. They constantly contradicted each other – one day she would see Boromir laying next to her on a field of green under impossibly giant trees and the next she knew without a doubt that she would never see him again if he left for Rivendale.

He had spent every evening meal with her without fail for the past three weeks and she desperately tried to convince him to stay or to take a large guard of men with him, but he refused to listen. He believed her- she knew he did after she told him of dreams she had of moments of his and Faramir's childhood that no one but they could have known of. She thought it scared him, a little, to know that she knew so much about his past and now claimed to know his future. She wished that it scared him more, enough to make him see reason. It was odd to sit with him in those moments because she couldn't quite understand how he felt about her. For Cerie, the past three weeks had been like a lifetime – a thousand lifetimes she had seen and lived and died and loved and felt love. And yet for him they had passed mere hours together. Regardless, they had drawn close, and at the very least she knew he considered her a good friend.

She found Faramir in the Steward's library, sitting with a book in his lap and a pipe in his hand. She joined him by taking a seat in front of the fireplace.

"Well hello, Cerie! How are you feeling today?" He asked as he set aside his book.

"Physically well, thank you, but my spirit is in turmoil, Faramir," She began, praying that he would sense her seriousness, "You know that I can See things that others do not, I can tell by the look in your eyes when I enter the room – you are frightened." She paused, waiting for his confirmation. He nodded his head a fraction of an inch, but said nothing.

"Good. Then you know that I would not come to you unless all other options had failed me. Please, Faramir, I know in my heart that if Boromir is allowed to go to Imladris alone he will not make the return journey home." She whispered and he jerked as if stung.

"You've told him this?" He asked hastily, but he cut himself off, "Of course you have, and of course he would be so brave as to not want to endanger others." He studied her face for a moment, "I don't understand it, but I feel as though you know him as I do - love him as I do." He ran a hand through his hair and heaved out a great sigh. "Very well. But I do not think I will be able to convince him to let you go with him, and I know I cannot convince my father to have him make you take him. Perhaps there is another way, though. Let us hope you survive the trip as well, milady."

* * *

><p>Cerie had been traveling hard for five days, following the mountains heading northwest. She hoped she would catch up with Boromir soon. Being so alone was not helping her mental state – when no one else was around her she could do nothing but focus on the shivery, icy lake of kaleidoscope colors that was her mind.<p>

She was beginning to doubt the wisdom of her choices. Faramir had said that it would be a few hours or a day maximum before anyone noticed she was gone and that by then she would have already caught up to Boromir. At this point, though, she felt that it was more likely that she was going to end up an afternoon snack for the local wildlife. She half wondered if maybe this was all just a fool's errand and debated turning around and heading back to Minas Tirith. An overwhelming panic settled over her as soon as the thought crossed her mind. In her mind's eye she could see the arrows protruding from Boromir's body; she could see her happiness fail with each step he took away from Minas Tirith alone.

It was with that last morbid thought that she paused – did she just hear the sound of hooves? There it was again – yes, hoof beats moving fast but gaining on her. They were coming from the northeast, away from where Boromir would have been if the sound was caused by her nearing him. Without a second thought she spurred her horse onward, galloping frantically away from whatever was approaching her.

Onward she ran, crossing a small stream when she came to it and ever louder did the sounds of her pursuer become. She heard an arrow wiz by her head before she saw it embed itself into a tree. What would she do? The men chasing her were clearly going to out pace her soon, and though Faramir had given her a sword, a bow, and arrows she only had a very rudimentary skill in using them. It certainly wasn't enough to try and fight someone on horseback.

She felt two more arrows fly by her, this time dangerously close. She moved her horse with skill, weaving in and about the trees to try and dodge the arrow volley, but it was no use. She felt an arrow pierce the skin of her arm just as her horse screamed from an arrow embedding itself in the mare's right flank. The horse kept moving, but it was dramatically slowed. When she turned to see how close her pursuers were she gasped – not even ten feet behind her were three men. Their faces were covered in the fashion of the wild men of the north, ready for the killing. Her visions washed over her as she desperately tried to push them back – this was not a time to be forced to see something other than the present! _You are nobody._ No! She would not be taken again! She spurred her horse on, begging the Valar for some way to get out of this mess. She saw a dozen futures where she was safe from them and a hundred more of her demise but still she pushed, knowing there had to be some way to survive this – she just had to See it.

Her chance came sooner than she would expect. Just ahead of her she saw her savior – he was mounting his horse and turning it towards her as she called out to him. He drew his sword. She saw black.

* * *

><p><em>I wanted to look around. I wanted to see the attackers behind me, but I couldn't turn my (our?) gaze toward it because I was just along for the ride in his head, and I was— Inside Boromir's body? I realized I didn't need to turn my head because there they were in front of me, touching her (my?) body, picking it off the ground and caressing it in a way that made me furious. They hadn't seen me yet, but they would. I was strong. I was cold. I was powerful, and they didn't even know just how powerful I was. They didn't see me, the fools. I was danger. I was everything they should fear, but they'd lived so treacherously that they'd forgotten fear. I would teach them. I would remind them.<em>

* * *

><p>Boromir finished off the last of the Bandits and wiped his sword clean on one of their shirts before quickly turning back towards where Cerie fell of her horse. She was unconscious and had taken a blow to the head from a sling. Her horse was whinnying in pain not far off, but he could tell the arrow in its rear end was only a flesh wound. He gently turned her over onto her back and brushed the hair out of her face. He felt as though she had been in his mind, for a moment, heard his most private thoughts. More than that – she <em>felt<em> him. Nothing about this girl made sense. He was livid, but he didn't have time now to dwell, they needed to move before any other evils befell them here.

* * *

><p>She awoke to the sounds of hoof beats on a cobbled road. Her vision was blurry, and she felt as though she was drifting through the air – but no, there was an animal beneath her and a beast at her back. She closed her eyes again and tried to think of what to say before he noticed that she was awake.<p>

"I am glad to see you awake. I fell like we've had this conversation many times since we met, Lady Liandara." He said, and she knew her time to think up excuses was over. He was furious.

"It's 'Lady Liandara' now, is it?" She shot back at him, just as angry, "Well then, Lord Captain-General, if we are not friends any more I believe it is rather inappropriate for me to be riding so close to you on your horse." She squirmed, trying to get out from his embrace and off of the still moving horse.

"Cerie," he sighed in frustration, "Your horse was wounded in your little adventure. She'll be fine, but I don't think she should hold your weight right now."

Cerie turned with a frown and looked at her mare trotting next to them, her reigns tied to his steed's saddle. "Where are you taking me?" She asked hesitantly.

"I plan on riding with you to the next town or watchtower or whatever livable place we come to and dropping you off with explicit orders to make sure you stay where you're told." He said gruffly, not looking her in the eyes.

"Boromir, please, I cannot allow you to do that!" She said quickly, squirming in the saddle. His face became strained as her rear pressed against him. She felt him again – felt that same danger lurking beneath his beautiful features that she did in her dream. It was exhilarating.

"Why shouldn't I? I am the heir to the stewardship of Gondor, and you are but the daughter of a farmer!" He snarled, "I do not know what else I can do for you, you refused to heed my words of warning and it almost destroyed you! What would you have done had you not been so close behind me? You would have faded away into death and no one would have known, or you have been taken again and lived through that which you most fear for a second time!"

He immediately regretted his words as tears fell unbidden down her cheeks.

"I am sorry I brought that up. That was cruel of me. I just don't understand why you feel the need to go on this fool hearty quest of mine. " He said gently, rubing her hand that rested on the saddle horn.

She was quiet for a moment, trying to put into words that which she had Seen of him in the future.

"In the Dreaming, I See myself. I am hugging my knees and rocking. For a moment I don't understand: I can't say it, I can't think it, I can't begin to absorb what I see. But there it is: Boromir the Brave is dead. Your horn is cleaved. You lie on your back, motionless. You haven't moved or breathed in the small eternity that I've been screaming for you. I can't sense you. On all other occasions, I've been able to feel you near me: electric, larger than life, a vastness crammed into a tiny container. That's how I feel you now: a deadly power with a stopper corking it. I rock back and forth. I am asked the same question over and over again: Who are you, Cerie? My answer, on the rare occasion the cosmos decides to reward me is always the same: I am the one that will never let you die. Without that, the answer is simple: I am nobody. Who can live when the world itself speaks to you, telling you that you are nothing? I must have this purpose."

She wiped her face of the tears that had be sliding down her face since he yelled at her, determined to make him understand, "I see it all so clearly, right now. Sometimes it changes if someone makes a different decision, but right now I could sing you the song they will have at your funeral: 'Where now is Boromir the Fair? He tarries and I grieve. Ask not of me where he doth dwell - so many bones there lie. On the white shores and the dark shores under the stormy sky; so many have passed down Anduin to find the flowing Sea. –" She began, but he cut her off quickly.

"Fine," he said with a grunt, clearly uncomfortable and shaken by just how clearly she could see his death, "If I am to die on this journey, why would you coming with me help? Would not you just suffer needlessly as well? I do not fear death for myself - I fear death for my country"

She smiled, happy that she was finally getting through to him on some level. "There isn't any guarantee that I could help… all I know is that just now, when you secretly decided to let me come, your death became less certain." She chuckled at the sour look on his face. "But I must admit, there is another reason why I want to go with you… Faramir told me that the Elf Lord of Rivendale has been know as a Seer." She began, "I'm scared, Boromir. I don't know why these things are happening to me, and if he could help me with these dreams or give me insight into my past… Boromir, sometimes I worry that my mind is slipping; that a mere mortal isn't meant to see the hundreds of worlds that I have seen."

He nodded as she trailed off. Of course she would want to know what was happening to her, just as he did. "Very well. I will take you to Imladris. After that, though… I fear our fates might not be as linked to one another as you would like, my dear."

That thought left her cold.


End file.
